


The Night Before

by paulmydear



Category: The Beatles
Genre: M/M, McLennon, McLennon Fanfic Exchange, Post-A Hard Day's Night, Pre-Help!, References to the Beatles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-08 23:18:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13468698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paulmydear/pseuds/paulmydear
Summary: Paul confides in John the night before a concert about his and Jane's faltering relationship because of certain affairs. John tries his best to console his friend.





	1. The Hotel / Before the Concert

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this one I originally posted on my wattpad *cough* back in June of 2016. I don't know if I will continue it or not, I do have a bit more to add, but enjoy I guess. Here is the link to that version: https://www.wattpad.com/story/76709363-the-night-before Regardless, this one is very much focused on the dynamic of the boys, and hopefully reflects what they were like.

"Okay boys, here are your keys. Use them wisely. I'm speaking of you, Ringo." Brian Epstein handed each of the boys a hotel room key.   
"I already told you Brian, it was not my fault. It got lost in the girl's pockets that's all," Ringo let out a laugh, and the other three snickered along. "I'll keep my heart set on clutching onto this one. Come on George," Ringo picked up his suitcase, and walked to the elevator. George followed suit, albeit slowly as he was prone to bringing quite a lot of luggage. Mostly guitars.   
Brian turned back to the front desk, away from the two that were left standing there, keys in hand.   
John turned to Paul, a glint of sarcasm in his eye. "That little guy thinks he's some sort of joker doesn't he, Paulie? I'd say he's more of a wanker than a joker." John nudged Paul's arm, hoping for his usually reaction, a laugh and a nudge back. Instead, Paul merely smiled, then walked towards the elevator without a word.   
"Oh, come on Paul!" He ran ahead of him, and put on one of his infamous scrunched up faces. "It was just a funny, Paulie boy," he said in an off-brand Liverpool accent.   
"Yeah, John, I'm not in the mood for funnies today. Not quite at all," he pressed the up button and waited patiently for the elevator to arrive.   
"Well, I'm going to fix that, Paul. A short session could do the trick! We could add in new lines to that number we've got going since we were back in Germany?" John walked into the lift with Paul, the two side by side in the small room. Paul looked at the ground, seeming to think for a bit, then looked back up towards the opening door in front of them.   
"I could try," Paul said, barely inaudible. John smiled from behind Paul.   
The boys walked along the hall looking for their room number. John found it when he saw Ringo pop his head out of their door.   
"Brian must have given you lot one of our keys, because I sure got yours! Nice room, love your bathroom," Ringo skipped out, laughing. John grabbed his shirt collar, "I'm going to ring your neck there, Richard."  
"I'll tell Cyn on ya, Johnny," Ringo looked up at John with a huge smile.   
"Yeah, yeah, go amuse George why don't ya," Ringo walked across the hall into his room and John and Paul made theirselves at home in theirs. The hotel room had two beds, both seemingly fit to sleep on with all the origami towel doves you could imagine laying upon them. The room also included a radio and a table with chairs. John ran straight towards the bed closest to the window and immediately belly flopped onto it.   
"This is the life, Paulie," John laid back onto the pillow. His suitcase stood at the front of the room, blocking the door from closing. Paul placed his on top of his bed and started to take his clothes out.   
"Only for you, Lennon," Paul said without looking up. John sat up and fixed himself on Paul.   
"You as well, Paul. They are your songs too right. You make as much as I do," John said reassuringly.   
Paul dropped the shirt he was folding and sighed, "It's not about the money. You have Cyn, you are married, you've got Julian. He's a blessing y'know. You may not see it, but he is."  
John looked taken aback by the Julian comment, but regained his composure, "Yeah, they're a hit. But, Jane Asher, Paul. I'd take a dig at her if she weren't yours."  
"She isn't," Paul sat on the bed, facing away from John, his head in his hands.   
John's eyes widened, "But you live with her and her parents for God's sakes! What are you thinking? She yours, Paul, you told me you love that girl." John took a step to Paul's bedside and stood above him, hesitant to sit down.   
"I don't think I'll be back, John. Jane was the perfect girl she always was," Paul patted the seat next to him, and John sat down, "she just caught me at the wrong times, that's all."  
"With who, Paul? You told me you wouldn't go down my road. You know-" Paul cut John off.   
"I was drunk. Mid-tour in Germany, I was alone and drunk, until she came 'round. You can't get angry, John. You've done it, too," Paul looked embarrassed, yet he spoke confidently.   
"No, Paul I can be angry. Cyn will hate me once she knows. They always find out Paul," John turned, full body toward Paul. His eyes full of confusion and rage. "I never thought it would be you. Jane was a lucky girl. You should stop while you're ahead."  
Paul turned to John, his eyes the richest brown, "Make me stop, Lennon."

"Make you?" John looked Paul up and down, looking for a small fragment of hope in his best friend, "I'll yell and scream at ya, sure, but I'm not your mum, or Brian for that matter." John sat up and walked back towards his bed. He bellyflopped again and let out a long sigh.

Paul turned away from John. "Well, fuck it then, right."

"Yeah, Paulie, right up the arse," John mumbled into his pillow.

The rest of the night was spent listening to the radio, chatting about the show, and fiddling around with a song here and there. The tension in the room had gone away slowly. The two boys were used to the usual tussle every now and again. They were opinionated fellows, and if they couldn't fight with each other - their best friend - then who could they fight with? John fell asleep first, in the middle of an Elvis marathon. He lay sideways along the bed, his feet at one corner and head at the opposite one. Paul threw a blanket over him haphazardly and went to turn off the radio. The clock beside it read 4:00 AM. Outside, he could hear Can't Buy Me Love being sung, a deeper voice and a little slurry, but still. He walked towards the door and opened it.

"Paul!!!" Ringo yelled, a drink in his hand, a lady on his arm, and George on his other, "The man himself, see Tammy, I told ya," the girl, Tammy, Paul assumed, acknowledged him with half-open eyes and a small smile at the corner of her mouth. Paul looked to George. George shook his head and pulled Ringo's arm further over his shoulder. 

"Well, good luck to ya George, see you boys in a few hours," Paul smiled.

"Yeah, yeah, you have him in Prague, you sod," George smiled back, a hint of sarcasm...and slurring in his voice. Paul scoffed and closed the door. A nice rendition of Bob Dylan's Blowin' In The Wind, mixed in with screams and giggles floated into his room, but the hardwork was duly noted. Paul took a look at John, still in his crooked position, but as peaceful as ever, his hair terribly dishevelled. Paul then went into his own bed, pulled up the covers, and closed his eyes.

 

Paul awoke to water all over his face. He jumped up in a sitting position, "What the? John! You arse!" Paul rubbed his eyes, wiped his face with his blanket, and laid back down.

"The car's waitin for ya, Paulie," John said in a playful tone.

"Yeah, yeah, tell it to take a rain check," Paul turned over, and got up. "You know that was quite unnecessary, John."

"But fun!" John laughed, picked up his suit jacket off one of the chairs in the room and walked out.

Paul was left alone in the hotel room, still in his pyjamas, hair and face soaking wet. He walked into the washroom and dried his face off with a towel. He looked up. His face seemed different to him. Like he didn't know who he was looking at. It used to be the face of a young boy, a young boy with an interest in music and girls...particularly one girl. A girl he vowed to himself he would one day marry, despite telling her that. He now looked at himself and saw a young man, a man still with an interest in music, and also with girls, still that one particular girl, but also the idea of girls in general. The idea of fame and how they all buckled at their knees to the sound of his voice or a note from his bass. It illuminated something in him that he had never felt before. He brushed his teeth, threw on his suit, and followed John's footsteps out the door.

"Took ya long enough," Ringo yelled with his fist in the air in the lobby of the hotel.

Paul had just come out of the elevator towards the boys and Brian, all waiting for him. Brian acknowledged Paul with a disappointed smile and turned to the hotel exit. The rest followed, and all packed into a car which would take them to the concert venue. Brian was in the front seat, while the boys, George, then John, then Ringo, then Paul, all squished into the back seat. 

"Oh, I wanna sit next to Paul!" George yelled, laughing to Ringo.

"Well, he's my bird so shut your hole," Ringo laughed, his shoulders bouncing along with his laughter.

Paul chuckled and shook his head. "You lot are in for it later."

John flicked Ringo in the nose. "Keep yer eyes ahead," he said, a smile appearing on his face.

Brian attempted to stop the fussing about, "Now boys, we're going to try to get you into the venue in a decent manner, I do know of newspapers printing wildly about the location of where we will be entering the building, and girls may be about."

John chimed in, "Wouldn't want to get lost in that," and winked.

"I've still got a bruise on me nose from last time," George said.

"Thought yer nose always looked like that," John added.

George pushed John's shoulder, "Sod off!"

 

The boys got in with little delay. There were a few girls rummaging about, trying to get past the ropes, but the security at the venue had everything taken care of. John and Ringo did try to speak to some of them, but the men leading the security began pushing them forward, trying to get them into the building as quick as possible. They ended up in their dressing room. It was fairly big, two couches, four vanities, and a small table with refreshments and appetizers on a platter in the middle.

"Sandwiches!" Ringo cried, running to the table. 

"Soundcheck in five, boys," Brian said, closing the dressing room door.

George walked to one of the couches, sat down, and started playing around on his guitar. John was about to do the same, also chowing down on the sandwiches with Ringo, when Paul tapped him on the shoulder. "Could we talk?" he said, his face quizzical.

John, with his mouth full, said, "Well, not right now sweetheart, maybe after Daddy gets home from work." He smiled, the sandwich showing through his teeth. He turned back to his guitar.

"It's about last night, I feel really bad about it. I know we left on good terms, but I want you to know you were right y'know? I'll think about my actions more," Paul said to John's back.

"Boys!" Brian entered the room, "Let's go! I hope everything is tuned and ready."

John got up, "Little too late for a heart to heart, Macca." John followed Ringo, George and Brian out the door.

Paul stood there with his bass in his hand. His face was blank. He really needed to hear John say that he could do it, that he believed in him. It felt stupid to want his best friend to tell him that he believed that he wouldn't go with anymore girls on tour, when his best friend of all people always did that. But, he needed reassurance immediately. He felt somewhat unbalanced by the fact that he never got it. It was as if John's voice was that missing puzzle to his sanity. It felt so right to even imagine it in his head. Paul shook it from his thoughts and walked out the door. 

The hall was huge. All Paul could see were seats. Ringo was banging a bit on the drums, and the other two were fiddling away with their guitars. It felt like home to Paul. His bass, the crowd, his friends, and himself. He brought his hand along the wood of the bass, feeling the warmth of just coming out of the case. He looked out again, the seats were all empty except for Brian and the concert hall owner. He closed his eyes and saw the screaming crowd. It was something he had always dreamed of. Not the girls or the fame, but performing. Performing his songs for people who wanted to hear them. He never thought this thing that he loved so much would influence him in ways that made him turn into somebody he's not. 

John yelled, "ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR!" They began to play.


	2. The Aftermath

"Boys! Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful!" Brian exclaimed, a huge smile on his face. 

"Yeah, yeah Brian. You sound like the birds out there," John laughed and shuffled along into the dressing room behind his band members.

The sound of the crowd didn't falter from the first strum of George's guitar. The girls could still be heard screaming from inside the dressing room. 

The boys sat around the small table of refreshments and Brian stood above them. "Now, boys. We will be heading off to Prague in the morning. So please leave the hotel in...somewhat, of a decent manner. I don't want an instance like Rome, is that clear?" Brian drifted his gaze towards Ringo and John.

John piped up, "Yeah, Ringo, is it clear old boy?" 

"Oh sod off, she was the nicest looking bird I've ever laid eyes on," Ringo laid back in his chair smirking, "Don't lie Johnny boy."

"The bloody image of you two and her is still in my head," George covered his eyes and laughed. John and Ringo laughed along with him.

Paul didn't look up from his bass. He hadn't given it to their roadie when he got off stage. Instead he just held it with him and began messing around with it. The boy's laughter died out and everyone seemed to notice Paul's state.

"Paul?" Brian asked. 

Paul looked up, his eyes sombre. "Yeah, Brian?"

"Anything you may want to add before we go?"

"Urm, no no, that's just alright," Paul looked up and around the table, he put a smile on, "Well let's get on then." He stood up and began to walk towards the door, the others followed.

 

Back at the hotel, the boys all congregated in John and Paul's room, each with their instrument (Ringo with his bongos). John was lying on his bed with Paul sitting at the foot of it, whereas George sat on the other, with Ringo sitting on the floor in between the two beds. The boys were pounding away at their instruments, trying out different sounds and playing about together.

"No, no, no, Paul. It's in every song! Give it a rest for one time, will ya?" John raised his voice.

"John, I swear the birds love it. Every time George and I 'dooo,' " He shakes his head, "at the microphone they go wild! George?" Paul looked towards the lead guitarist, who was stuffing a ham sandwich into his mouth.

Muffled, George added, "Yeah John, wild," he moved his hands in a shaking motion beside his head.

John smirked and shook his head. He went back to his guitar, playing a chord sequence of E minor, G, C, E minor, G, C. 

A few hours went by, and the boys started dropping like flies. The thought of Brian's disappointed face began wafting into Paul's mind. It was getting a little too late. Ringo was the first to stand up. "Boys, it was nice knowing ya, but this drumma's got to be gettin to bed. And by bed I mean-"

"You mean BED, Richard," George interrupted.

"No need for that Georgie," Ringo laughed, trotting out of the room, with George close behind. 

The door closed. John and Paul were still sitting together on the same bed, fiddling about with their instruments. In the middle of a song they were playing, Paul stopped abruptly.

"Letting me have a solo, are ya, Paulie?" John asked without looking up from his guitar.

Paul didn't answer, he just placed his bass beside him on John's bed and sat there cross-legged in front of his best friend. John's fingers caressed the guitar as if it were his kin. Carefully placing each one on the strings, yet with fast precision, almost as perfectly as George would. Paul noticed how many of the chords John was playing, that he taught him. Those days back in Liverpool. Just the two of them. It was nice, really. The two of them face-to-face playing together, almost every single day after school. This night in the hotel seemed very much the same, yet slightly different. It was no longer his bedroom in his father's home. It was a hotel, where he was on tour with his band. Their band. Lennon-McCartney. They were always together. 

"John, about this morning, before the gig," Paul looked John in the eye.

John stopped playing, "Oh yeah, what'd'ya want again? Something about Jane?" He placed his guitar against one of the chairs by his bedside table and sat crossed-legged in front of Paul.

They were so close. Paul had began to wonder if they'd ever actually played this close before. He knew they had slept together in small hotel rooms, but the way he was sitting, so effortlessly close to him with no reaction or thought to move further away, sent a chill down Paul's spine.

"Um, well, yes I assume. I just wanted to apologize. I know what you say is right, considering you know from experience. But, I uh, just needed to hear it from the horse's mouth y'know?" Paul looked at John with an expectation that he would fix all his problems. Something about the way John fashioned himself seemed like he could do all. 

"Paul, I'm not yer mum, alright? I got me own problems, right. You are my best friend and all, but you got to figure it out. I told ya everything I know. I know you're a smart fellow," John pushed at Paul's shoulder. 

"No, not too smart," Paul could still feel where John's hand had hit his shoulder. He placed his hand in the same spot and let it linger.

"You coulda been a fucking doctor, Paul. You told me what you got on your A levels. I got you into all this band stuff," John added, "There wouldn't have been a Jane to mess around with anyway if it weren't for me." John looked down at his hands, the knuckles turning white from his tight grip on his knees.

"What? John, this is what I wanted. I don't want to be going to school for the rest of my life, y'know?" Paul stood up and began pacing the front of the bed, "I want to tour with you and with the girls and George and Ringo and music, John! Music! It's my life, oh shite, it's our life." Paul stopped at the foot of the bed and looked John up and down, "You're me best friend, Lennon."

"I just feel like-" John began, but was cut off by Paul's lips against his. Paul's hands caressed John's face, then moved up to his hair, his fingers getting lost in it as their bodies collided. 

John pushed Paul to the side, "You fuckin' wanker! What in the bloody hell was that? I'm not a queer!" 

Paul's face went white. He sat upright and his hands went to his lips. Still feeling John on them.


	3. Prague

The car rolled silently along the road from the airport. Ringo and George were using themselves as pillows, snoozing away. While John was also sleeping, although with his head laid backwards and his mouth wide open. Paul was sat in the front seat with the driver, a burly man with a graying beard. Paul stared out the window, watching the trees go on by. 

"Paul, you sign paper for my, uh...neteř...hmm niece! That is what you call it, yes." He held out a small piece of paper towards Paul. Paul snapped out of his daze, took a pen out of his pocket, the crook of his mouth turning up a bit, "What's your niece's name?"

"Ah, it is Denisa," The old man said. Paul smiled again and started signing the paper. He finished and handed it to the man. "You know, she like your music! She say she want to marry John!" The man laughed, his hand hitting the steering wheel in a playful way. Paul's eyes diverted towards his hands. The man kept talking, something about his niece seeing them in concert the next day. As much as Paul wanted to care, he couldn't. He had spent so much of the flight to Prague blocking that night with John in his mind. The way he wouldn't speak to him in the morning and how he chose to sit with Ringo on the plane rather than him. It hurt more than anything any girl has ever done to him. He wanted to talk to John and tell him how much he loved him, but then again, was it the love of friends or of lovers. Paul didn't quite know. He knew what he did was out of the blue, and maybe even wrong, but he knew of the days when John would joke about Brian and gay clubs, but it was always jokes, just jokes.

The car drove into the parking lot of the hotel and parked alongside another. The other car opened and Brian walked out, waving at the only awake Beatle in the car. Paul waved back, forcing a small smile towards his manager. He rolled the window down as Brian walked up.

"How was the ride, Paul? A little long, I might say. Surely, no girls will be around these parts." Brian pulled a cigarette out from his pocket and lit it, "You?" He offered Paul his pack. Paul took one and Brian lit it.

"A bit long, yeah. I couldn't sleep, though, bumpy, y'know." Paul smiled, his eyes cheerless. He took a long drag of his cigarette and proceeded to get out of the car. The driver banged on the top of the vehicle and the three boys in the back jolted awake.

"What'd ya have to do that for? I was gettin' me beauty rest," Ringo complained.

"Should've slept longer then, you're still lackin' the beauty part," John snorted back. George laughed and Ringo pushed John's shoulder.

Paul stuck his head in the car, "Don't worry Rich I bet all the birds will love ya." Ringo gave Paul a reassuring nod and John didn't say a word.

"Come boys, your rooms, let's go," Brian yelled from the front door of the hotel.

"I call Ringo!" John yelled. Ringo and John high-fived and scampered into the hotel after Brian.

 

Paul and George walked into their hotel room and set their things down on the bed and chairs. George slumped onto his bed and turned on the radio. Paul did the same, albeit fiddling about on his acoustic, trying to mimic the chords that he heard coming from the station. George eventually sat up and joined Paul, when there was a knock on the door and a loud, "Paul, George! There's sandwiches in our room, John ordered room service!" Paul and George, mostly George, rushed towards John and Ringo's room, eager to eat after a long ride from the airport.

Paul and Ringo on one bed, John and George on the other, all four boys were munching on sandwiches. Brian had stopped by to chat about the plan for the next day, but didn't stay too long. Afterwards, Ringo and John were joking about the lady who brought them their food.

"The bloke called her 'mum' by accident!" John laughed. Ringo put his face in his hands. "Good luck getting one with her old boy, ha ha!"

"She resembled good ol' mum, alright Lennon?" Ringo laughed.

"So you wanted to shag your mum, Ringo?" George asked, laughing. Ringo threw a pillow at George, knocking the sandwich out of his hand and onto the floor. John doubled over, laughing, while George began chasing Ringo around the room, hitting him with the pillow every chance he got. Paul sat on the bed, smiling, every so often looking at John, watching him laugh. Whenever their eyes met, Paul looked away.

"Can you sod off, George? You can have mine, alright?" Ringo asked, chuckling, and still batting away George's pillow. George abruptly stopped.

"Yes! Alright, Ringo, I win that's final," George grabbed Ringo's sandwich and walked towards the bathroom.

"You're eating it in there?" Ringo asked.

"No, I've got to go, but I'm not leaving it around your grubby hands, Rich," George turned and said. Ringo nodded in agreement.

Later on in the night, the boys stayed up talking, joking, and playing a few songs here and there. Ringo and George were the first to fall asleep, Ringo in his bed and George in one of the chairs. John was shuffling about with one of George's solos, trying to get it right.

"Y'know, if you move your elbow in more it'll make the chords a little easier," Paul said, breaking the silence. John didn't respond and continued playing. "John?" Paul said, then repeated his advice that he had already said.

"I heard you the first time." John said, sternly. He continued playing. Paul's heart jumped at the sound of John's voice being directed at him. It had been almost a day since they had spoke. It sent shivers up his spine.

"Um, okay, did you want me to play alongside you? I could give you some other pointers like-"

"No, that's just fine thanks," John retorted. Paul was taken aback. He felt all of his built up anger about the past 24 hours bubble up inside of him, begging to be let out.

"You know what Lennon?" Paul lowered his voice, not wanting to wake the other two, "I have spent the entire day wanting to talk to you, wanting for you to reassure me that we are still friends, but fearing you would do this. Is this what you do with those girls you stay with instead of Cyn? Just ignore them until they get pushed under the carpet? That's not me, John. I'm here to stay, we play together, we are in the same group together, we write songs together. I want it to be okay between us, don't you understand?"

John took a deep breath and set the guitar down on the bed. He straightened himself and looked up at Paul, "Don't you dare ever speak of Cyn in that way, Macca. You did this, not me. I can't just forget it."

"Then how are we supposed to go on as a band?" Paul asked.

"I dunno know. You're going to hav'ta get over whatever you're going through. I understand your situation with Jane, but to resort to me is a little far don't ya think?" John said, weirdly reassuring. Paul didn't expect him to be so calm. He thought John was going to lash out at him, curse and fight. Ringo stirred in his sleep and Paul moved over to John's bed so he could lower his voice even more.

"I've never done anything like it, John. It felt weird, the moment and all of it. I didn't mean any of it. You're just my closest friend, I felt-"

"I don't care how you felt, Macca."

"No, no listen. I felt like I was with Jane, telling her about my problems, what was going on in me head. She's always there for me like that, y'know and I know you are as well, but she's usually there for me afterwards right, and that may have been why-" Paul was cut off again by John.

"Don't make excuses Paulie," Paul's heart fluttered in his chest at the sound of his nickname, "It wasn't me being your girl, you were complaining to me about your girl and how you shag other girls. Maybe you just wanted to shag a guy," John said without looking at Paul.

Paul looked away from John and put his head in his hands. He knew that tears were coming, but he couldn't let John see. He quickly wiped away at them with his sweater and stared at the wall. "Y'know John. After what you said and after what I did, I began to remember things from my childhood. Things that made me scared and confused, and also things that made me realize why I did what I did. It's not about Jane or about girls, I was just lonely that's all," his eyes welled up, but he looked back at John.

"Don't get lonely anymore, ya wanker. I'm not into guys okay, I got me lady and these Prague birds and that's all I'm going to need," John picked up his guitar again and began fiddling about with it, attempting the same riff as before. He pulled his elbow in and played the riff perfectly. Paul smiled. John looked up and noticed, "Don't get all mushy with me, Macca," he nudged Paul, "Grab yer guitar will ya? I want to show you this song I wrote, it's called, 'You've Got To Hide Your Love Away'."


	4. Room 217

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John confides in Brian.

John found Room 217 and knocked quickly. His head diverted left and right. No one was there. That comforted him. The hallway light was dimmer than he remembered it to be. His eyes felt droopy, his vision foggy. He knocked again. Quietly, but with furious intent. He could hear footsteps approach, then followed by the unlatching of the door.

"John?" Brian expelled, accompanied by a long yawn. John smiled sarcastically and walked in. "John, it's three."

"Brian, I've got me watch, y'know." John sat on the disheveled bed, one side unkempt and clearly pushed aside in the flurry of John's knocks. "It's…it's uh…"

"I thought you said you wouldn't do this anymore," Brian went into the closet of his hotel room and took his robe down from the hanger. He wrapped it around himself, standing in front of the radio, his arms crossed. 

"You've got a ciggy, Eppy?" Brian picked up the pack off his dresser and tossed it to John. John took a lighter out of his pocket, lit the cigarette, and laid back onto the bed.

"You do know we have to be up soon, John. I'm tired and I want to sleep. You just can't do this, at least not without asking me first."

John stood up and walked towards Brian, his cigarette dangling between his fingers, the ashes falling to the floor. The room was dim except for one table lamp and the light from John's cigarette. John's eyes were half open, he looked impaired. He looked incredibly sad. 

"Eppy, one time, for old time's sake," John breathed out, his right hand cupped around Brian's cheek. Brian's face flushed. He pushed John's hand down and looked at him, disappointingly.

"John, I…can't be here for you like this…like before."

John's eyes continued to droop. They watered and his lips wavered. 

"John, you've got to go," he was pointing to the door, his eyes diverted away from his friend.

John didn't flinch at Brian's statement. He stood in front of the radio, his hands by his sides, the ashes of his cigarette still falling to the floor. Brian repeated himself. John stared at the floor, collecting his thoughts, arranging them, deranging them. The moment seemed to extend. Brian's robe and slipper clad body pointing to the door, the lack of lighting casting his face in a shadowy darkness. John was not responsive. He was removed. An elevator had pinged from outside and both boys flinched. 

"John, please," Brian walked up to John and turned his face into the light with his hand. "John, oh god."

"Brian, I didn't mean it, I'm not thinking right. You know it was just for fun, right? We were for fun? Those birds, Eppy! They think they got me, but…but…," he thrust himself into his friends' arms. Brian followed suit and brought John in. He was still in shock at seeing the intense redness that adorned his friend's face. Streaks of tears that collided into rivers, tumbling over and into the shoulder of Brian's robe.

Brian led the boy to the bed, sitting him down, allowing John's head to fall into his lap. The absence of the cigarette light sent the room into a deeper dimness. John wept. Brian sat caressing his friend's head, his own head full of questions. "John? John, can we talk?" John's head lifted from Brian's lap, red and wet. He wiped at his face, his shirt sleeve stained with the remnants of his tears. He breathed in through his nose and steadied himself. He nodded.

"I want to help John, but you can't be coming in this early, wanting my company," Brian's previous angry tone turned soft and somber in the light of the past events. John sniffled and wiped at his face again.

"Eppy, I've got me own problems to deal with, but I've not got anyone to talk to except you," he was pausing between every couple of words, filling the silence with hiccups of oncoming sobs.

Brian looked on, confused. "And what about Paul?"

"That's what I've got to get at. I told you I'm not a flower, y'know Eppy. I'm just as confused as you are. I…I don't get on with that lifestyle. Brian, I'm not…," John trailed off.

"Yes, John. I'm aware."

"Paul, he…he's always been a bit of a flamboyant type, right? But he gets most girls, right? I…uh…he was talking to me about Jane and he…shite," John's eyes started to well up again. He knew Brian would take it well. He knew in his mind's eye that Brian would not hurt him. Would never hurt him. He felt at home next to his manager. His hands were always welcoming, kind, warm. The daintiness was accustomed to smaller boys, ones he could lift up and into him. John was of a different kind. He was strong and figured he didn't need holding up. He held Cyn up, she needed him. Although, in a different kind of sense, John knew what he was. He knew he was in need of a strong hand. In need of a sense of exaggerated well-being, implemented by another who understood. Who could wipe away pre-existing notions and step outside of the societal bubble that John Lennon seemed to inhabit around everyone. One who could step to the outside and bring John with them.

John's mind screamed at him to tell Brian. He felt the utmost inhibition in speaking it aloud. He had never spoken it aloud to someone other than Paul. "Paul kissed me, Brian."

Brian paused and looked down at the hand he had left resting on top of John's. He slowly pulled it away and placed it in his lap. He cleared his throat, "And?"

"I don't know. I've not thought too deeply about it, Eppy. I've blocked it out me mind. I haven't the slightest wish to think too deeply about it."

"Did you kiss him back?"

John paused, taking in Brian's pale face, the red washed out. "I didn't."

The boys were silent for a moment. John's mind jumped from outcome to outcome, catastrophizing to the highest extent. He figured Brian couldn't be jealous, it had been too long. Maybe he was mad at him. Maybe Paul had already told him. Maybe Brian would tell Paul what he had said. 

Brian took John's head in his hands and placed his lips on John's forehead. He pulled back, "You can tell me if you did, you don't have to be-"

"I'm not," John turned away from Brian. Scratching the back of his head, John was awash with the consequences of this spontaneous meeting. He had gotten the anchor he wanted from Brian. He had gotten what his heart needed. John had forever boasted his frequent lady meetings to the boys. Those meaningless flings which equated to nothing but pleasure, preceding the deep contemplation of the unfaithful. Why did he hurt Cyn?…why did Paul hurt Jane?…why did he hurt Paul? He had kissed his best friend. What was wrong with that…what really was wrong with that… "I'm not sure."

Brian didn't seem surprised. His once flame hadn't yet come to the conclusion his mind had been toying with for years. The beautiful Liverpool boy who regarded himself as a Teddy, a rockstar, a ladies man. The beautiful Liverpool boy who cried in his lap, who came to him when in need (for the lowest or highest moods). Brian cracked a smile, "That's fine, John. That's just fine…just fine."


End file.
